Forgiveness
by Rosawyn
Summary: "There was something I needed from him; even if he couldn't give it, I had to try."  A "what if" fic.


**Forgiveness  
**A 'What If'? Story

When I apparated into his backyard bedraggled and pale in the glimmering moonlight, I didn't expect to see him standing there staring at me. I didn't expect to see him, but I had been desperate to see him—not really sure why, but I hadn't exactly been thinking clearly since that day, the last time I had seen him. His eyes were locked with mine, and I drank in those eyes as though they were water for my parched soul. All the confusion, all the pain, all the sadness, all the fear was there in those eyes. Did he fear me?

A wand slipped from my limp fingers as I fell to my knees before him, staring unblinking at his face. There was something I needed from him; even if he couldn't give it, I had to try. "Forgive me." It was a plea, desperate, begging, the most honest thing I had said in many years. He was still and said nothing. Words started to pour from my lips into the silence between us. "I know I do not deserve it, Albus. You have every right to hate me, hate me forever. If you are going to kill me," I swallowed convulsively, "I vould ask that you first hear vhat I have to say." I tried to say it plainly so he would understand, "There is—maybe—maybe I—I had thought if I found the stone, I could bring her back for you."

I saw a flicker of hope in his eyes, and somehow that hurt more than everything else. Tears started pouring down my face. I could no longer look at him; I bowed my head and my tears fell onto my knees and onto the grass on which I knelt. "I have been trying, Albus, trying to find the stone, but I am lost—I do not think I can do it alone." My choking, cracking voice sounded strange to my ears; it had been years since I had cried, and I had never before felt emotion claw at my insides as it did then.

At the sounds of motion, I looked up again, wayward locks of my hair hanging in my face, obscuring my vision along with my tears. Albus was kneeling, facing me. I could have reached out and touched him. I ached to do so, but I couldn't. My hands hung limply by my sides. I was defeated. I almost wished he would just kill me, end my pain. "Albus…please…" I didn't know what I was begging for, only that he was the one who must give it: death or forgiveness, it didn't matter.

He reached a hand towards me, stopping and holding it still halfway between us. "It was—" he began, his voice filled with a strange mingling of fear and hope and pain, "It was you? I-I was never sure; I thought maybe I—"

And I realized then. He was terrified he had killed his own sister. None of us could have seen what really happened, but it was my fault—it _had_ to be me. And I knew then he needed something from me, perhaps as much as I needed something from him. I had to say it; I had to make him believe I was sure. Even if it meant he could never forgive me, I had to take this weight from him. "Yes. It vas me, Albus. I killed her."

He closed his eyes with a sharp intake of breath and I knew it had worked: he believed it. I could almost see the weight lift off him as though it were a physical, tangible thing. He gasped a couple of times and I saw tears running down his cheeks. I wanted nothing more than to hold him, to comfort him, but I could not. I couldn't pretend I had never driven this wedge between us, this spear into his heart.

I drew a breath, attempting to calm myself. "I vill leave, if that is vhat you vant, Albus; you vill never have to see me again. I vill confess to the authorities, go to your Azkaban. I vill do as you say."

And suddenly, unbelievably, he was holding me, his fingers clutching my jacket at my biceps, his face buried in my shoulder, his tears soaking through my clothing to my skin. I was stunned. Did this mean he forgave me? I had never desired forgiveness from anyone before, and now when I so desperately wanted it, I was unsure if I had it and unsure what to do. I tentatively put my arms around him, hoping to comfort him; at least in some small way make it better.

"Thank you," he said, pulling away slightly to look me in the face. "Thank you for telling me."

"I had—I had thought you knew. I had thought you hated me for it."

"I was angry, scared, confused. I never hated you, Gell. And even now, when I probably should, I can't." There was such softness in his eyes, it hurt to look at him.

"Albus, it vas my fault; I should never have fought—if I could go back and change it, I-I vould never cause you pain."

He took my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. "I forgive you, Gell. I forgive you."

It was the strangest feeling: relief and wonder and a warmth bubbling up inside me. I felt as though I could fly…but I didn't deserve this. "I—I don't deserve— I had no right to ask."

"Gell, I'm glad you did. I am so, so glad." He pulled me into his warm and welcoming embrace, crushing me to his chest. I had never before felt such joy and wondered at the feeling. My friend, my one true friend, the only one who I had ever really cared about _forgave_ me. We were together again. We would find the Resurrection Stone together and with it bring back his sister and his mother. Even his stupid goaty brother might forgive me then.

It didn't matter if we conquered the world; whatever we did, we would do it together. Together: that was all that mattered.


End file.
